


We Were Never Here

by Barely_Meeting_Expectations



Category: Ratchet & Clank
Genre: 23 pages of pain and suffering, Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Growth, Clank doesn't fuck around, Explicit Language, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of holes, Horror, If I didn't make you throw up in your mouth a lil bit I didn't do this right, In which Dr. Nefarious has a change of heart, In which Dr. Nefarious realizes he HAS a heart, Lawrence is a pussy and also a snob, Medical Procedures, Needles, Nefarious is an unhinged dork, Not intended to be torture porn but like, Ratchet Whump, Ratchet has seen better days, Rated For Violence, Rivals to Frenemies, Set shortly after R&C All 4 One, Torture, Trypophobia, Trypophobia Warning, Vent Writing oop, What Have I Done, Whump, holes - Freeform, no beta we die like men, non-consensual drugging, unedited, you do you man I won't tell anyone bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 01:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barely_Meeting_Expectations/pseuds/Barely_Meeting_Expectations
Summary: “Doctor Nefarious, please listen. We were under orders to locate your station and take you into custody. But my priorities have changed. If you help him, we were never here. You have my word.”A mission goes horribly wrong. Clank willingly breaks many intergalactic laws. Lawrence reveals limits to his unshakable level-headedness. Dr. Nefarious is reminded of how fragile squishies can be (and he certainly doesn’t care).





	We Were Never Here

**Author's Note:**

> One of my favorite pastimes is returning to old nostalgic video games and turning them into these godawful monstrosities.  
Although Ratchet’s kind of out of commission throughout this entire fanfic, I feel it imperative to let y’all know that his personality is based around the one he harbored for the second and third games of the series. I understand many of you may say something along the lines of, “But he was so mean! His personality shift goes to show how much he’s grown and matured!” To me it just seemed like Insomniac wrung out the more interesting aspects of him to make him more appealing to children and to sell more generic, washed out content. I stand by my theory that, although he’s noticeably less of a prick, he’s still kind of a self-centered asshole. Growing up the last of your kind abandoned on a desert planet fending for yourself will do that to you, I think. Also fuck the new game. Fuck the movie a little less though. Thanks for reading. Enjoy. Or don't, because this shit's fucked. Either way I've done my job.

Like clockwork, it happened just as Dr. Nefarious let his guard down. 

_ (Looking back on it now, he thinks that letting his guard down was a stupid thing to do in the first place. Given how his luck’s been so far though, he really shouldn’t have been all that surprised.) _

It was exactly 02:46:04 AM Standard Time, if he recalled correctly, when the universe decided to lose any and all of its reason.

It didn’t even grant him time to process what the hell was going on - instead, it blindsided him out of nowhere, and forced him to question things that he’d been working very hard to internalize. 

It happened the instant he was about to shut himself down for a routine charge, when he allowed himself a brief moment of relief and reprieve. It was in that peaceful flicker of contentment when it all went to shit, as did all of the other misfortunes that plagued his miserable life. It reaffirmed once more that nothing seemed to go according to plan, even on nights that were intended to be completely uneventful.

The disturbance made itself known with a blinding red light, flashing repeatedly throughout the space station, ripping him from his fantasies of a completely robotic universe void of vile organic life forms.

“Sir,” Lawrence spoke haughtily over the deafening alert as he promptly beckoned his boss over, “It appears that we have an incoming transmission.”

With a heavy sigh, Nefarious dramatically pried himself free from the tangled wire prison he’d just gotten himself comfortable in. He stormed over to join his butler, who was standing inquisitively before the motherboard. 

The highly amused butler readjusted his formal attire and spoke with a smug satisfaction that dripped from his robotic voice.

“Let’s see here. According to the station’s receiver, the transmission was sent only a few moments ago-”

“Uh, yeah, I can  _ see _ that, Lawrence!” The doctor sneered. Obviously, he was made painfully aware of the transmission after the alert broke him away from his well deserved self-care routine (which Dr. Nefarious was quite strict about following). Part of him was convinced that Lawrence insisted on meticulously reiterating these meaningless details to him during his designated times of rest simply to annoy him. 

It worked like a charm every time.

Dr. Nefarious begrudgingly inspected the screen in front of him, which warned the robotic duo of a small ship that was stalling just outside of their perimeters. Said transmission sent from that ship was still flashing on the screen, waiting to be answered. 

The villain scoffed in annoyance.

“Lawrence? Why haven’t you activated the turrets yet!? Do you  _ want _ us to be swarmed by authorities!?” 

Being apprehended by Galactic Rangers was something they were vehemently trying to avoid. It wasn’t on the to-do list. Not yet, anyway. Especially not after finally ridding himself of their mongoloid of a president, and the two most infuriating wannabe heroes in the universe.

The doctor moved to type a command into the computer. 

“I swear, I have to do everything myself around here! What do I even pay you for-”

The evil genius’s hasty, irritated ramblings fell on deaf ears, and were promptly interrupted when Lawrence lazily swatted his employer’s metal claws away from the floating keyboard.

“Wha- Lawrence!?”

“Apologies sir, but did you even bother to read the screen?” He droned. “The source of this transmission is coming from a ship that has already been registered in our system.”

“We  _ don’t _ have any-” 

“It’s from Aphelion.”

All of the gears in Nefarious’s oversized cranium froze with a jolt.

That name… that was that stupid space monkey’s ship.

How’d that stupid Earth saying go again? Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

A wave of frustration washed over him before he could properly formulate a thought. Instead, he threw his hands up in the air with an angry screech that resounded off the space station’s metallic walls.

“WHAAA- 

**Oh, Lance! I could never forgive myself if I allowed you to consume this adorable newborn kitten, no matter how appetizing it may appear to your beautiful, zombified mind!”**

“Sir,” The butler spoke, knowing that Nefarious couldn’t hear him, “I daresay these new Lance and Janice spin-offs have gotten quite ghastly since you threatened to kill off their writers. Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that.”

Lawrence cleared his throat and swatted Nefarious with a highly satisfying, violent-sounding thwack.

“-AAAT!? How could they have already found us!? And so easily, too!? We were so  _ careful _ ! How could this have happened!?”

Dr. Nefarious paced back and forth as he babbled on and on about the vexatious duo currently sitting outside the station. With a disappointed sigh, Lawrence again returned his attention to the screen. Something on the incoming transmission caught his eye. 

He spoke up with a hint of impatience.

“Err, with all due respect sir, I do not think they are here to apprehend us.”

That made the doctor stop pacing instantly. He slowly swiveled his head around with a sardonic expression.

“Oh, you don’t think so? Why else would they possibly be here, you dense moron!? For a cup of tea? Hmm?” 

The sarcasm that laced his voice was quickly replaced with bitterness. 

“Just because you abandoned me on that miserable planet with them, doesn’t mean for a second that we’ve-”

“The transmission seems to be a distress signal.”

… A what?

A slight twinge of unease snaked its way down the doctor’s faux spine, but he matched it with a haughty, snide laugh. 

“Pffft! A distress signal? Oh, that’s rich!!”

Nefarious wouldn’t put it past that fleaball to send him a so-called ‘distress signal’ merely to throw him off his game. It wasn’t a technique he’s employed yet, sure. But the squishy was always finding new and creative ways to foil his plans and enrage him enough for his circuits to overheat. He could easily envision the stupid space cat using a distress facade just to get past the defenses and blast his way through the space station. He knew that Ratchet was capable of playing dirty, and wouldn’t feel bad about faking an injury for the opportunity to strike, like the trigger-happy destructo-naut he truly was. The whole “Saviors of the Galaxy” spiel fooled everyone else, but Nefarious could see the aggressive, calamitous glimmer in that squishy’s eyes from a lightyear away.

Of course, after forcibly getting to know the quarrelsome hairball in the time spent trapped with him and his pet can opener (and their pathetic, braindead excuse of a president)… after witnessing the space rat’s hasty, careless, reckless, blunt personality... he could also very well see how the Lombax might wind up accidentally dismembering himself or something.

With that in mind, the concept of the distress signal being a genuine one seemed much more likely.

Not that he cared in the slightest. 

Those were just the facts.

“We’ve kept them waiting for some time. Would you like me to pick up, sir?”

_ (Looking back on it now, he shudders at what could have happened had he said no. He despises himself for the delay as it is.) _

_ If this is just a trick, _ Nefarious reaffirmed to himself over the steadily-growing panic worming its way through his metallic frame,  _ I’ll skin that moronic fleabag myself. _

“Fine fine fine fine fine, I don’t care!” He caved almost indignantly. “But if they try anything stupid, I’m blowing them up on the spot! And I’m not bluffing this time, you hear me!?”

“Understood, sir. Would you like me to give you The Pep Talk before we proceed?” Lawrence inquired habitually, without an ounce of emotion.

“... Yes.” The doctor replied quietly.

The butler briefly paused over the answer button and cleared his throat.

“You, sir, are evil incarnate. You are the scary story that keeps children awake at night. You are the closest thing to a deity that this universe will ever have the displeasure of fearing. The galaxies that are spread before you, and the pathetic lives that writhe and snivel therein, are yours and yours alone. Also, you are valued and loved. Remember your worth.”

It took a couple of seconds for Nefarious to embrace his renowned evil genius persona while Lawrence encouraged him along the way. He repositioned himself in his ridiculously large swiveling chair and took a moment to muster up an intimidating posture. At the very least, after being rudely interrupted by what Nefarious hoped was a fluke, he could make himself look presentable. 

He swiveled the chair so that he faced away from the camera and shot his butler an impatient look.

“... Well!? Answer it already, you bumbling oaf!”

“Of course, sir.”

Lawrence pressed the button

“-eed to wake up- Ah! Oh thank goodness! Hello? Doctor!? Are you there?” A familiar robotic voice cut through the blaring static.

Nefarious let out a dark cackle and slowly rotated his chair to face the idiots, strumming the arm rests with his glaring metal claws.

“Well well well! What a surprise!” He growled. “If it isn’t Secret Agent Lunch Box and-”

… and where was the insufferable squishy?

Usually, when the duo sent a transmission, Ratchet was the one in front of the lens. He was the one who drove Aphelion after all, and  _ he _ was the one who’d make those infuriating quips and snarky remarks to everything Nefarious had to say.

So it was kind of jarring to see Clank in his place, seated in a chair that was far too large for him, gripping the steering wheel for dear life, with a horrified look in his eyes that shouldn’t be possible to convey as a robot.

“Doctor Nefarious? Can you hear me?” The little robot’s voice sounded urgent. It sounded nothing like the conceited voice of a know-it-all sidekick that catered to his obnoxious squishy’s every will and whim. It was wrought with fear.

Maybe the distress signal was just that.

Another uneasy feeling wracked his joints, but it was quickly followed by his signature spiteful denial.

Clank pressed on.

“Please doctor, there is not much time! I implore you let us-”

“Not another word from you, you deplorable pipsqueak!” Nefarious shrilled as he sprung to his feet, the chair flipping over and falling behind him with a dull thud. 

“Where is the Space Ferret? Have you finally become aware of the inane and sickening codependency you share? Or is this just an ill-thought ploy to infiltrate us!? If you think that pathetic strategy is enough, you’ve severely underestimated me!”

“Although this is not something I say very often, I’m inclined to agree.” Lawrence piped up, after having noticed the absence of Ratchet on the screen. “Surely you know by now, Clank, that this entire facility is equipped with a customized state-of-the-art defense system. The push of a button is all it will take to send you reeling into the-”

“Enough!”

The firm finality of Clank’s abrupt exclamation startled the other two robots. They flinched in alarm at the unexpected hostility, and they both fell into a painful, suffocating silence. A heavy uneasiness flooded the room.

Briefly, very briefly, Nefarious considered activating the turrets out of sheer spite. Nobody spoke to their future leader that way, much less a runt of a robot who he thought was incapable of saying anything without a “Please” or “Thank you” at the end of his sentence. 

Much to Lawrences’ surprise, Nefarious remained deathly quiet, rather than voicing these thoughts aloud as he usually did. Following his boss’s example, they looked to the screen and allowed Clank to speak.

“Enough banter! We are wasting time! We are not here to fight you! And we have not split up! Ratchet is…” He paused to swivel his head and glance at the seat beside him.

And that’s when he saw it.

It was exactly 02:49:37 AM Standard Time, if he recalled correctly, when Nefarious realized that this was a genuine distress signal.

_ (Again, looking back on it now, that much should have been obvious from the get-go. He supposes that a part of him just didn't want to believe it to be true.) _

Aphelion’s interior was generously painted in streaks of blood. The side of Clank’s head was dripping with red, as was the entirety of his right side. It looked as though he’d been supporting someone who had been severely injured. 

There was only one other non-robotic being that it could have belonged to.

“Ratchet urgently requires medical assistance.”

Now, Dr. Nefarious had spent enough time around this excessively formal bot long enough to know exactly what that statement entailed. Not that it wasn’t forthright enough to be as blatantly obvious as it was. He’d heard it used before multiple times, albeit with a little less insistence. Hero work wasn’t just fame and glory, after all. He knew that much long before witnessing how familiar the hero duo was with catastrophe. Seeing as Clank had little to no personal connection with past casualties and incapacitated villagers, it was commonly spoken with a harrowing blankness that Nefarious came to associate with him. Blunt, straightforward, formal, with the barest amount of emotion and a gratuitous amount of professionalism while still on the scene.

The way he said it about Ratchet though, it was worlds different from the way he said it about those other unlucky souls.

Anyway, frankly put, that was excessive nerd talk for  _ he’s dying. _

And in the back of his panicked mind, Nefarious briefly… very,  _ very _ briefly... considered lifting his finger and simply ending the ca-

That thought deleted itself before it was completed. The questions that flooded his reeling head immediately afterward, however, seemed to have gotten stuck in a dazed, stupefied loop.

Nefarious reasoned with himself, torn between two very different truths. Being one of Ratchet’s many arch-nemeses, the doctor should have been delighted to hear those words. Utterly ecstatic, in fact! Because at the end of the day, eradicating fleshies was the goal. This one in particular has always been a thorn in his side. One less troublesome organic life form certainly would have made his life much easier, without the constant harping and mockery he’d suffered through. So realistically, logically, he should have been elated by the news.

That did absolutely nothing to deter the sickening sense of dread that threatened to swallow him whole.

It was as if the lunch box could read the thoughts that raced through the doctor’s mind just then, because he straightened up and spoke with a bit more urgency.

“Doctor Nefarious, listen to me. I will not lie to you. We were originally under orders to locate your space station and take you into custody. However-”

A despondent, pain-ridden groan resonated from the little robot’s side, startling Clank out of his rushed explanation. If the reality of the situation hadn’t already dawned on him, the pitiful sound would have struck Nefarious like a fucking train.

Ratchet was dying, and the doctor  _ felt _ something dangerously akin to dismay.

He wasn’t sure which one of those facts he feared the most.

His hesitance only served to steel Clank’s resolve.

“Nefarious, my priorities have changed. The mission does not matter anymore. You are the closest available help right now, and you alone are the only one capable of saving him. If you help him, we were never here. Your space station will remain hidden. You have my word. He-he doesn’t have much time. Please, Doctor.”

The pleading went unheard. 

By that point, it genuinely wouldn’t have mattered if Clank had begged him on his hands and knees to help, or if he demanded it at gunpoint.

For reasons he would never disclose aloud, the doctor had already made up his mind.

“Bring him in.”

* * *

It was exactly 02:53:08 AM Standard Time, when Nefarious adamantly told himself that Ratchet was only allowed to die by his own hand, and that was the  _ only _ reason he agreed to do this. 

The statement may have sounded brash and a tad bit unstable, but it made him feel less like a teary-eyed whelp and more like the crazed supervillain he was actually supposed to be. The satisfaction of wiping the ever-present smug grin off that stupid Lombaxes face was the sole reason he allowed them to land in the station in the first place. End of story, no room for argument.

_ (Looking back on it now, this was probably due to the fact that he’d begun to appreciate their growing rivalry. He’d grown comfortable with their encounters, exhilarated by the words they exchanged and the challenges they proposed. Looking back on it now, he blames Lawrence for reinforcing this vice, for leaving him with them on that godforsaken planet with them.) _

Lawrence perceived the steely, determined glint in the doctor’s eyes, and followed him to the dock without an ounce of hesitation. The butler quickly called for two servant bots to follow them with what he dubbed a “fleshy stretcher”. Nefarious would have joked about the absurd name, if his mind weren’t so preoccupied with reaching the mangled Lombax before it was too late.

In the mere seconds it took the gaggle of villainous robots to reach the ship, Clank had already lifted the hatch, and was in the midst of carefully propping Ratchet up off the seat. Nefarious was taken aback by the sight.

The vivid, horrific images that had been dancing in the shadows of his mind did not do the real thing justice. The damage done to this squishy was far more devastating than what he’d braced himself to see. The crumpled form of splotchy red fur before him couldn’t possibly have been the same Lombax he’d come to despise. 

Ratchet - the proud, uppity, overbearing, undefeatable and irrefutable hero - was nigh unrecognizable.

Nearly every inch of him was a patchwork of jagged and unnatural lacerations, bleeding generously along the ship’s thoroughly soaked seats. One arm was twisted at an ungodly angle, obviously broken or dislocated. The other arm was so heavily weighed down by the amount of blood in its fur, it dangled uselessly to the side, like a broken toy. His whole body was littered with strange circular wounds that dove straight through his flesh, as if he’d been bombarded by urchins, or sprayed with acid. Ratchet’s tear-ridden ears dangled limply against his skull, a steady dribble of pink drool ebbing down his slack chin. His labored, wheezy breathing was what finally snapped the robotic trio from their horrified stupor. 

Lawrence had to tear his eyes away from the Lombax several times, opting instead to stare at the floor intensely and await further orders.

Ratchet didn’t stir when the doctor pried him out of the ship and tossed him onto the stretcher.

He didn’t stir when he was dragged off the stretcher and placed roughly onto the operating table in the brightly lit, pristine white room. 

He didn’t stir when Nefarious set the strangely-twisted arm with a nauseating  _ crack  _ that bounced off the walls. 

That was a bad sign. Not exactly surprising, given his haggard condition, but still a very bad sign.

“I take it you’ve already tried Nanotech?” Nefarious questioned bluntly, the previous malice and indignation absent from his voice.

“Yes, it has no effect.” Clank spoke quickly while his taller counterpart busied himself with setting up an IV and an oxygen mask. “I can only assume that their weaponry was laced with Nanotech resistant materials, or something that negates its effects.”

“Hmph. Lawrence, the bio kit.” Nefarious demanded, not looking away from Ratchet, who still hasn’t so much as twitched upon arrival.

The butler didn’t reply. He was out the door before the doctor finished his sentence.

It was exactly 2:54:33 AM Standard Time when Nefarious remembered two very important things, both of which made him feel upset for forgetting in the first place. 

One: Despite his dismissive demeanor, Lawrence found squishies to be, for lack of a better word, disgusting. Completely and utterly appalling, both physically and mentally. Which made complete sense.

Physically, they were sentient chunks of meat, whose reigns were pulled by a single feeble organ and the handful of chemicals it sometimes produced. They excreted a number of vile fluids. They smelled to high heaven when not properly maintained, and this one in particular managed to leave a trail of bloodied, sticky fur in his wake. Don’t even get him started on their anatomy. Complex, grotesque, and unnerving. 

Mentally, what was there to envy? They were basic creatures, dragged along by their own nonsensical hormones and held down by chains of irrationality. Arguably dumb as rocks, in his mind.

This was part of the reason why Lawrence and Nefarious got along so well; their equal detestment of organics led to their shared goal of annihilating them entirely. It should have occurred to him earlier that Lawrence would try to find ways of helping that didn’t involve directly approaching Ratchet. 

Nefarious couldn’t blame him, though. An injured squishy was a gruesome and horrific sight as it was, and he could only imagine that his butler would be retching if he were a squishy himself (gross). This one specifically happened to be one of the most horrendous sights they’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing firsthand. 

Which led to the second revelation, as well as the second reason he abhorred squishies: They were inherently fragile. They relied on too many outliers to survive, and needed to take a multitude of precautions in order to so much as  _ exist _ in this universe without backlash. They were easily persuaded, and even easier to eliminate. When they inevitably and stupidly flung themselves into dangerous situations, like this one did on a regular basis, the outcome was rarely pretty.

Had Nefarious been the one in the altercation, it would have been an easy, painless fix. Spare parts and an extensive knowledge of basic robotic engineering went a long way, and he’d probably have himself completely repaired within the hour. No one would be none the wiser.

But when it came to organics, there were so many things that could go wrong. There were countless other factors that constantly needed monitoring to ensure their lives weren’t in immediate danger. Repairing a squishy was a tedious, revolting, traumatizing, and pain-staking process for both parties involved. He would know, he was one long ago. He’d done this song and dance before.

He was very, very thankful to whoever first developed Nanotech. Yeah, it saved lives, big whoop, but more importantly? It meant that there was less of a mess to clean up, and no reason to seek treatment from others. 

He was very, very disappointed <strike>(Disgusted? Confused? Terrified-)</strike> to learn that said Nanotech had no effect on this bag of wretched mincemeat.

“Tell me what happened.” The doctor firmly demanded. He finished positioning the IV and began inserting an array of needles into the unconscious Lombax’s good arm, grimacing all the while.

“Y-yes. Aphelion’s scanners led us to an unmarked space station which we assumed belonged to you, and the fastest route was through Galaga Five. We landed on Xezar to refuel before-”

“No, you twit, the wounds! What caused the wounds!?”

“We- he was ambushed. Nine Xezarians. They only landed a few hits before Ratchet was able to escape, buy they-they shot at him a few times with an unregistered firearm before retreating. I-I still don’t quite understand what- one moment he was fine, insisted that he had nothing more than a few bruises and scrapes, but then he was screaming- and he just collapsed and- I apologize, Nefarious, but-but I simply do not know. I don’t know how this could have ha-happened. I can’t find anything about it in my databases and I’ve looked through everything I could hundreds of times and-”

Clank was stuttering. Clank, the robot ever known for his calm collectedness, his rational thought, his perfect speech, was stumbling over the jumbled words that practically fell out of his mouth all at once.

If Nefarious didn’t know better, he’d think that the little robot was glitching or short-circuiting, much like he did himself when he got too hot-headed. Perhaps the Lombax’s blood was gunking up his circuits, or perhaps he was experiencing the exact same dilemma  _ he _ has when it came to overwhelming emotions impairing his systems.

_ (Looking back on it now, Nefarious knows that it wasn’t a robotic thing. He knows it wasn’t a “squishy thing”, either. It was a fear thing, simple as that. Clank’s one and only friend had been half-dead on that operating table, for Christ’s sake. He was splayed out in front of him and covered with unnatural gashes, skin gaping and porous, as though he was consumed by starving maggots and then tossed through a wood chipper for good measure.  _

_ Had that been Lawrence on that table, seizing, his systems frying and buzzing, unresponsive to any of the doctor’s repairs-) _

“Yeah yeah, I got the gist of it, jeez. Stop yammering already, runt. Make yourself useful and cut that dumb space suit off, would you?” Nefarious stated, lifting Clank off the floor and setting him on the table beside Ratchet. Clank immediately obeyed.

_ So, this wasn’t the work of a prolonged beating, _ Nefarious thought to himself as he made quick work of wrapping Ratchet’s arm. The multiple tears and sickening holes in his skin, according to Clank, had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. That boiled it down to a bio-engineered attack, likely from the firearm he’d mentioned. His body was ripping itself apart from the inside out. Nefarious didn’t even want to  _ think _ about the internal damage he might have had by now.

The doctor swabbed a sample of fresh blood that ebbed from a cut that definitely wasn’t there before, and hastily thrust it into a Petri Dish. He had to work with what little information he had while simultaneously ensuring that this freshly fileted Lombax didn’t die from blood loss on his table.

He could do that. He’s been in similar time-sensitive situations before. Easy. This was easy.

“What planet did you say you were on?”

“Xezar.”

The name was familiar. Why was that name familiar?

“How long ago did he lose consciousness?” He asked as he rapidly began to stitch and wrap the older cuts, attempting to keep him from losing any more blood as much as possible. A bloodless squishy was a useless squishy, in the end. This was the moment in which Lawrence decided to arrive with a small medical kit. He took one long look at the needle threading swiftly through Ratchet’s sponge-like, hole-ridden skin. Then he thrust the kit onto the table, flipped around, and promptly left the room. Nefarious and Clank didn’t bat an eye.

“Approximately ten minutes ago, I believe? Shortly after I-I sent the distress signal.”

Well, shit! Shit shit  _ shit _ , why hadn’t he just answered the call earlier!? He had known that something wasn’t right, so why hadn’t he swallowed his pride long enough to make the rational decision? At least then Ratchet would have still been responsive! No, instead he had to goof off while the Lombax was literally being  _ eaten alive _ -

No. No, he couldn’t lose his cool now. He couldn’t afford to. He could hate himself later.

_ (He does. Rest assured, he does.) _

Dr. Nefarious continued to bombard Clank for more information as he went back and forth from the operating table to the microscope on his desk. The more he had to go off of, the higher this idiot’s chances of staying alive were. 

Eventually, he had to stop attempting to stitch up the lacerations. The deep, circular holes that kept appearing on his body regularly loosened the thread. By this time, there were so many of them scattered across his flesh that no matter where he inserted the needle, it met with no resistance. On more than one occasion he found himself using them as a sort of grid for the needle, much like a grandmother meticulously threading dyed string through a stretched canvas. He shuddered and fought the urge to look away, but he’d already sworn to do whatever was necessary to fix him. If that meant having to bear the traumatizing image of fleshy pockets and hollow craters on the back of his eyelids for the rest of his life, he’d fucking do it. He could only imagine how much pain the Lombax would be feeling once he woke up.

Briefly, very briefly, Doctor Nefarious pondered the painfully real possibility that Ratchet wouldn’t be leaving this table alive. Then he scolded himself for even having such a ludicrous thought.

He was a genius. If he could construct weapons capable of changing a living organism into a fully-functioning robot, he was more than capable of eradicating a simple string of troublesome toxins from a squishy’s bloodstream.

Ratchet didn’t have the luxury of dying by the hands of some lowlife, lazy Xezarian thugs.  _ He  _ would be the one to annihilate this annoying space rat. Not some pathetic, cheap, unimaginative Nanotech-resistant poison. Talk about uninspired.

Just as Nefarious was rendering the contaminated blood into his computer’s registry - every poison had an antidote, he’d be damned if it wasn’t listed on his database - a quiet sound behind him drew his attention. A small and wretched whine that, if he had a heart, would make it weep with sympathy.

_ (Looking back on it now, he scoffs at the half-baked concept of requiring a muscle to experience certain emotions. Heart or no heart, that’s definitely what it was. He promises to be the one to end that furball, but he never wants to hear that daunting sound again. He’ll kill him quickly, he thinks to himself long after this ordeal is over. He’ll kill him painlessly.) _

“Ratchet!?” Clank desperately urged from atop the reddened table. Upon hearing his best friend’s voice, his eyes were a kaleidoscope of despair, and relief, and unease. An abysmally gut-wrenching expression that had no right to be so prominent on the face of an inorganic life form. An expression that struck Nefarious full-stop and left him reeling from the collision.

_ (... No. No, looking back on it again, he doesn’t think he could even bring himself to do  that . Clank would be devastated. God damnit god damnit  **god ** **damnit**- ) _

Unfocused and hazy, Ratchet’s reddened eyes scrolled over the room once, then twice, as if he was searching for something but came up empty each time. His head lolled slowly side to side, completely oblivious to the fact that Clank was practically sitting on top of him. He’d moved his good arm in an attempt to sit up but was hurriedly stopped by his robotic friend. If he was coherent enough to notice the doctor’s looming presence directly in front of him, he didn’t make it apparent.

Nefarious was certain that this wasn’t the case. 

If he was being completely honest, he was kind of thankful for that.

“Ngh, wha’s... ha-happenin?” Ratchet whimpered weakly.

“Ratchet! Can you understand me?” Clank all but shouted. 

“Mmh, ‘s cold n’here, where’re… ?”

“Everything is alright! You will be back to full health very soon. Please, do not fear! Try to stay awake! I will be here with you every step of the way, understand?”

Nefarious watched as Clank soothed and encouraged the dazed Lombax, the exchange stirring something deep in his chest.

For a moment, it seemed as though Clank’s words actually registered. Ratchet’s tense, apprehensive features softened and his muddled movements ceased.

That moment was short lived.

A flash of terror glimmered in his eyes before they slammed themselves shut.

Accompanied by an ear-splitting scream, Ratchet’s whole body seized. His spine arched off the table and his form violently tremored, quaking the entire table. Miscellaneous tools clattered to the ground. Blood cascaded from his nostrils. The skin beneath his fur resumed splitting itself clean open, accompanied by a stomach-churning ripping sound barely audible over his grisly shrieking. Newer, larger holes were reappearing across his arms and legs, as if invisible drills were erupting from every inch of his body. The blood that spewed from the lacerations sprinkled the robots before him, and it wasn’t as warm as it should’ve been, Nefarious noted dully. At this rate, there would be nothing left to try and revive.

Although the doctor was in the midst of what a squishy would call a mental breakdown as he once more applied pressure to the newly formed wounds, the doctor couldn’t help but note that he’d  _ seen _ this somewhere before.

One final, dreadful wail. A wet, painful cough. The dull thud of Ratchet’s head dropping back onto the table, eyes still open, vacant and expressionless. 

And then silence. A harrowing, strangling silence, followed by more of Clank’s inane, panicked stammering that didn’t quite register in the doctor’s dumbfounded mind. 

Ratchet had only been conscious for a handful of excruciating, agonizing seconds before he stilled on the table once more, brandishing newer, deeper wounds than before.

That’s when it clicked.

It was exactly 3:12:58 AM Standard Time when Nefarious remembered why the name Xezar was so familiar, and boy was he glad he did.

_ (Looking back on it now, he’s glad he remembered it, but he will forever be ashamed that he ever remotely  considered using this concoction on Ratchet. He will never forgive himself for nearly stooping that low. At the time, it seemed like a fitting revenge for all the shit he’s made him put up with. And being a self-proclaimed evil genius, it wasn’t off the table for Nefarious until after this ordeal was over. After seeing its cruel and inhumane effects first-hand, he doesn’t think he could stomach the guilt of making someone suffer that much. He doesn’t think he could ever bring himself to use it on Ratchet, or any other stupid squishy for that matter.  _

_ Only because it was an underhanded, revolting, and distasteful method of killing. That’s the only reason he isn’t going to use it, though. He’s aiming to exterminate organics, not torture them for fun. He’s a supervillain, not an unhinged sadist. He has standards.) _

“Eradimites.” Nefarious reaffirmed to himself, a bizarre mixture of relief and resentment creeping into his strained voice. 

Before Clank could ask for further clarification, the doctor had already swiveled around and begun withdrawing a number of labeled vials from the drawer. He hastily scrolled over the labels of the vials and flung them around until he found what he was looking for.

“What!? What did you say? What’s going on? What is that?” Clank’s broken voice inquired nervously, his eyes wide as saucers and not leaving Ratchet’s ravaged form. He clasped his metal hands around Ratchet’s own as the mad genius behind him withdraw a dose of the strange substance with an obscenely large needle.

“Nefarious, please talk to me-”

“I said, they’re Eradimites!” He snapped with a twinge of irritation. “I’ve heard of them before. Though they’ve never given me any trouble, for obvious reasons.”

A dull, electronic hum emanated from Clank’s chest, and Nefarious assumed it to be a sound of relief. He couldn't blame him for holding his breath in this situation, metaphorically speaking of course. Truth be told, he’d been doing the same. Now that Dr. Nefarious had discovered the issue, and appeared to be administering some kind of serum, odds were that they were out of the woods. Not all the way, but it was enough progress to make Clank want to weep with victory, if he had tear ducts. 

Not knowing how else to help his friend, Clank looked on as Dr. Nefarious inserted the needle and injected one… two… three doses of the ethereal violet liquid.

“Hmph. That should do it.” Nefarious muttered, and the duo observed anxiously as the holes that were sporadically consuming Ratchet's arms and legs began to lessen, before ceasing to form entirely. They sat there in a strange, calm uncertainty for a few moments, and before long, the cuts and craters stopped appearing altogether.

A low rumble escaped Ratchet’s parted lips, and his eyes eased closed.

“You know,” Nefarious said lowly, his gaze unwavering from the Lombax, “You self-proclaimed heroes can be really daft sometimes."

Clank let out what he assumed to be an imitation sigh. His hands didn’t leave Ratchet’s.

"Well, you know Ratchet almost as well as I do, doctor. He can be very hasty-"

"I was talking about you."

Clank blinked up at Nefarious in surprise and tilted his head.

The doctor made his way to his desk with a huff.

"The reason nothing came up when you searched for it, you moron, is because it’s an unlisted drug that doesn’t exist anywhere but the Xezarian black market.”

He continued to speak as he rummaged through the desk and grabbed some Nanotech.

“ _ Eradimites _ . A stupid name for an illegal concoction of highly potent toxins and genetically modified tetramites. From what I understand, it’s the go-to for political assassinations on Xezar. When injected, the bearer is simultaneously poisoned and eaten alive from the inside out, effectively killing both the victim and the mites. They will suffer a long, excruciating death, and there will be nothing left behind to collect. Lucky for your friend here, this is nothing more than a crude copy-cat at best.”

He carefully opened the Nanotech and set the cartridge beside Ratchet on the table. The healing nanomites immediately sprung into action. They crept out of their prison and perused the Lombax’s body, rejuvenating the hollow pockets and mending the ripped flesh back together. Steadily, Ratchet's raspy breathing became less labored. The dread that had been suffocating the room lifted as the cuts and holes began to finally fade.

“Pfft. Poor idiot probably didn’t even notice that he was swindled out of healthy mites and decent poison. If it were the real thing, your friend probably would have already been dead.”

The confidence with which the doctor spoke this caused a visible shudder to rack through Clank’s frame. Nefarious had to steel his nerves to prevent his own shudder from being outwardly apparent.

Lawrence returned with more bots in tow and hummed in relief upon seeing that Ratchet was no longer a horror movie prop. He quickly stepped beside Dr. Nefarious and waited for an impatient demand.

None came. Although the ordeal had passed, the moment of truth had already come and gone, although Ratchet was now in stable condition, none of them dared to move. Completely enraptured by the pool of blood steadily dripping down the sides of the table, the robots stayed completely still, paralyzed by the fact that this had nearly become Ratchet’s deathbed. 

The trio stared on with glossy eyes as the Lombax weakly curled into himself and began to tiredly purr.

The same thought crept through each of their minds simultaneously.

_ That was far too close. _

* * *

(Present)

Nefarious was wringing his hands absentmindedly, still enthralled by the horrific, life-changing events that transpired earlier that morning.

Ratchets condition quickly stabilized after the serum was injected. The Nanotech finally closed up the unsightly holes and stitched his broken skin back together. All the blood had dried into his matted, crusty fur. There would be no scars left to remind him of what happened.

All the better, since the Eradimites had already reached his brain. Nefarious is confident that by the time he finally applied the serum, most of Ratchet's internal organs were basically sponge cake. It would explain the seizure, and will explain the memory loss he will experience shortly after regaining consciousness. Nefarious would leave it to Clank as to whether or not he wanted to tell him what happened, and who helped him escape death’s grip with about a minute to spare. As much as he didn't want word getting out about this, it wasn't his place. He's accepted that, he thinks. And if not, well, he would force himself to. It’s what he deserves for assisting in the development of Eradimites in the first place.

He can’t remember how long they were in that room for, after the Nanotech had finally finished putting his broken rival back together again. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. There had been no words of protest, no impatient looks, no restless fidgeting or awkward tension. Just blissful, comforting silence, worlds different from the uneasiness they were drowning in before. They were all perfectly content with witnessing how their efforts have finally been paid off - observing the steady rise and fall of the sleeping Lombax’s chest, basking in the deep hypnotic purr he unconsciously produced, watching the occasional twitch of his ears - all the while knowing that these sounds had almost ceased, and these movements had almost permanently stilled. 

In another unlucky timeline, Nefarious knows they were two minutes too late. In another timeline, perhaps one in which he were more decent and withheld the urge to partake in the conception of Eradimites, they were standing in that room looming over a silent, disintegrating corpse. Ironic really, that his knowledge of bio-engineered torture devices is what helped saved Ratchet in the first place. It was almost poetic, in a disturbing way.

He can’t remember why it took them so long to shake off that bittersweet relief.

What he can remember, though, was how the icy fear that gripped his chest melted away like snow by a campfire. He can remember Lawrence instructing the bots to wash the blood off of Ratchet, and he can remember how Clank did not let go of his hand once, even as they were escorted to the washroom.

He’s still holding his hand now, Nefarious realizes, as he waltzes into the room where Ratchet was still asleep. Although the Nanotech had technically done its job, the Eradimites had taken their toll. He’s been asleep for fifteen hours and counting.

Clank doesn’t notice the doctor’s presence until he takes a seat beside the bed. Neither of them stir. Nefarious doesn’t dare say a word. 

After a couple moments, the lunch box is the first to speak. He breaks the silence with a hushed question.

“Do you have a pen and paper?” He asks calmly, which confuses Nefarious. The doctor reaches into the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a notepad and a writing utensil.

Clank takes these items with a quiet “Thank you”, and begins awkwardly scrawling on it with the pen in his free hand, the other still clutching Ratchet’s.

“Aphelion’s scanners were recently upgraded with the Galactic Ranger’s new signal detectors.” He says simply as he writes. “That was how we were able to locate your station so easily. It automatically destabilizes the cloaking shields within its radius. It comes in handy when finding unregistered space vehicles and smuggler headquarters.”

Clank hastily scribbles a long string of complex numbers and tedious symbols on the paper. He hands it to Nefarious with a determined, slightly mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Unfortunately, the program seems to have trouble detecting certain wavelengths. If you can manage to create a cloaking device that emits this signal, you will be invisible to all Ranger space ships for the foreseeable future.”

And that’s when Nefarious remembers what Clank said when they picked up the transmission. He had nearly forgotten the rushed agreement, in fact he’d paid it no mind at all, so caught up in the urge to save Ratchet’s life that it had been meaningless sounds racing through his ears. He really should have been listening to what Clank was offering, that way this-

Nefarious startles himself out of his rapidly derailing train of thought, because the reality of Clank’s offer finally registers.

Clank - a longtime hero, affiliated with Galactic Rangers, enlisted solely to find and arrest him - offered to cover up their tracks if Nefarious saved Ratchet’s life.  _ Clank. _ Nefarious didn’t think it was possible.

And yet here he was, shoving a paper in his face that could keep his station under wraps long enough for him to formulate a plan, providing him a tool that would mask his existence in this region while he regained his footing.

Nefarious wasn’t exactly expecting this. These two often played dirty, that much he knew. He was expecting Clank to give him a resigned apology for lying to him, to be informed that Galactic Rangers were on their way as they spoke, not… this.

“... That’s it?” Nefarious grumbles quietly, gawking at Clank with a quizzical expression.

Clank blinks.

“I can certainly make further modifications to your station, if you like.” The little robot offers with no hesitation, not an ounce of deceit in his voice. “In fact, I’m certain that I could make it so that your station can be teleported remotely-”

“What? No! The… the code’s fine, that’s not what I meant. I meant…” Nefarious wavers, trying to find the right words to properly convey his shock.

The words never arrive. Nonetheless, Clank appears to understand.

“Doctor Nefarious, I am repaying you for saving Ratchet’s life.”

The bluntness of this statement visibly jolts Nefarious. Clank doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything.

“I meant it when I said I keep my word, Doctor. The mission lost priority the instant Ratchet’s life was at stake,” He says outwardly. 

(And he says this in confidence to Nefarious, a mad genius who is known for backstabbing and lying, and he says it with no fear of the knowledge being used against him - either because Ratchet’s life being in immediate danger wasn’t a common occurrence, or because Clank knew for a fact that after this, Nefarious wouldn’t even think about-) 

“I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done today.”

“... Whatever,” Nefarious hisses softly. He accepts the paper with a shaky hand and looks anywhere but the duo beside him.

They sit in silence for the upteenth time that day, and the doctor’s mind snakes its way back to the Eradimites that caused this whole mess. He wonders why they were used on Ratchet in the first place. Xezarians weren’t usually a hostile people, the scientists he worked alongside told him that it wouldn’t be used frivolously.

His thoughts are interrupted by Clank stretching his robotic limbs.

“Well, we should take our leave before Ratchet wakes up. I imagine he will be quite confused if he were to wake up here,” Clank chuckles, gesturing for Nefarious to pick up the Lombax as he hops off the bed.

Nefarious hesitantly does so, and shoots his shorter counterpart another puzzled look.

“You aren’t going to tell him?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no. Why? Would you like me to?”

“... No.”

“Then I won’t.”

“... Clank?”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“What did these ambushers look like?”

* * *

Against his better judgment, Nefarious returns to Xezar and confronts the bioengineers he'd once called comrades.

He asks them if they're interested in heroes.

By the time he leaves, their bones are dust and shrapnel on the floor.

Their laboratory is burned to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> hehe galaga  
also rip that fucking lab amirite


End file.
